


I Hear No Music But Yours

by Eristastic



Category: Odin Sphere
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mythology References, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 15:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13126758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eristastic/pseuds/Eristastic
Summary: Orpheus-inspired AU wherein Gwendolyn must rescue her husband again, find herself faced with more backlash than she imagined, and learn that actions have consequences - on others, if not on herself.





	I Hear No Music But Yours

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t actually go here, and while I did rewatch a playthrough to prepare and all, it’s likely that this is full of inaccuracies — in the event of such things, I hope everyone (especially shay, sorry shay) can find it within themselves to forgive me.
> 
> Anyway this is an Orpheus-inspired au, and also an au where the ‘everybody dies’ thing doesn’t happen. If you do see any inaccuracies, let’s call those part of the au too.  
> (Inaccuracies don’t include how wildly different in tone the first section is from the rest: that’s just me being an idiot, and an indecisive one at that)
> 
> As a very simplified recap, Orpheus’ most famous story is when his wife died after a series of terrible happenings (as opposed to unfortunate events), and the gods — moved by his incessant lyre-playing, and probably a little fed up too, on account of its being incessant — said he could have her back, on a few conditions. Those conditions were that he go down to the underworld to get her, and that he not turn around to look at her, or touch her, until they were both out. Spoiler: he fails.

Gwendolyn had rather hoped that, upon her return, she might be greeted by her husband. The idea had consumed her thoughts for much of the ride back. It was never a trial to visit her half-sister and brother-in-law, but — agreeable as Velvet was, and…boisterous as Cornelius was — they weren’t Oswald, and she had regretted his absence bitterly: she was of a mind to make sure all their visits were made as a couple in future, no matter how much work suddenly appeared on their respective desks. It was too wearing to be without him for such an extended period of time (a week), and the letters they had exchanged (five each) weren’t an acceptable substitute for his company, to her.

Accordingly, once her chaise pulled up outside their front door, she jumped out, said a rushed greeting to the stable girl come for the horses, thanked the driver, and hauled her bags up the stairs and into the entrance hall with haste she usually wouldn’t have thought of. Dropping her bags into one corner, she looked around the hall and found, instead of her husband, Myris running down the main staircase. Gwendolyn went to her, noting with some concern that there seemed to be the remains of scorch marks on the brass banisters. After a closer look, she noticed more: scuffing along the skirting board, singeing on the begonias on the hall table, an acidic smell like bile tingeing the air — the minutiae of a clash of magic. When Myris reached her, out of breath, she bent down.

“Myris, what has happened here?”

“Oh,” Myris said, one paw on her chest as she gasped back breath, “oh, my lady, something terrible has happened!”

_Well yes, I can see that_ , Gwendolyn thought, but she said patiently, “What, exactly? Where is Oswald?”

“Oh, it is terrible!”

“Yes, I’m sure it is. What is ‘it’?”

Myris swallowed and looked away, to one of the ashy stains on the polished metal of the banister. “King Odin called,” she said, and Gwendolyn felt her jaw tighten. Unaware, Myris went on: “I…I do not know quite what happened, but after he had been with Sir Oswald some five minutes, there were a great many noises, and we all went to see if something was the matter, but before any of us could do anything, they…they began to fight.”

And so the sorry tale came out: with each second, Gwendolyn felt the skin of her face grow tighter, dread settling comfortably into the pit of her stomach. It transpired that, after a brief but brutal fight that had done a really vexing amount of damage to the first floor curtains and carpet, there had been a fiery exchange of words none of the servants had been close enough to hear (all having wisely removed themselves from the danger), and things had escalated from there. It seemed that Gwendolyn’s father had had the last word (though none knew what it had been), and after his departure, Oswald had not calmed down. He had seethed, searing in black fire, and before anyone had managed to appeal to his reason, he’d been abducted by the Halja in a clap of dark thunder. This had happened two days ago: Myris expected that the messenger they’d sent to inform her must have passed her on the road.

Ever since then, Oswald had been in the Netherworld.

Gwendolyn thanked Myris for telling her, and, numbly, began to go up to her room, making it clear to the now-emerged Brom that no, thank you, she could carry her bags quite well on her own. Ignoring the sting in her nostrils as she went past the second floor (evidently the recipient of an admirable, but ultimately insufficient, cleaning effort), she climbed to the third floor and went down the corridor to the set of rooms she shared with Oswald. After depositing her bags on a sofa in the sitting room, she locked the doors firmly behind her and went into their shared office.

It had been a long time since she had last plunged into the Netherworld to retrieve him. The last time, Odette had barred all entry to the living; the only entrance Gwendolyn now knew of, from rumours Velvet had told her in passing, was a new one their father had forged. With any luck, Odette wouldn’t have discovered it yet, but even if she hadn’t, Gwendolyn would still have to persuade her father to tell her the way in. She hadn’t talked to him in years. She had meant to keep it that way.

For something to do, she opened the fleur de lis-printed curtains (typically left closed, to protect their books), and walked over to her desk. It was less cluttered than she remembered it. Upon inspection, she found that Oswald had filed away the correspondence she’d been too busy to; it seemed also that he had found the time to go through the land deeds she’d been putting off. These were now accompanied by a page of orderly, easily-read notes in Oswald’s neat scrawl, highlighting the main points and giving helpful suggestions as to what she might like to request be changed in the updated records. At the end, tucked into a margin, there was a little note of encouragement.

Something in Gwendolyn’s heart tightened. She paused for a moment, the sheet of paper shaking in her hand, and then she put it down gently, turned on her heel, and stormed into her wardrobe to find her old armour.

 

***

 

“You cannot be serious.”

“That you could believe me anything but is an insult that cannot be borne.”

“But be borne it must, for you have done a foolish thing, my daughter.”

The appellation stung, as it had been meant to: Gwendolyn bridled and tightened her hold on the spear she pointed at King Odin. It clattered against her gauntlets — the sound barely dented the tension strung between them. From outside the throne room came the shouts and noise of the palace trying to clean up the mess she had made in coming this far, but she had barricaded the door, and no one would be disturbing them. Light fell through the windows on her left side such that she was half-blind, but she wouldn’t move. Backwards or forwards, it wouldn’t make a difference: anything but crystal-cut concentration would be weakness in her father’s eyes. She knew that.

“I’ll ask again,” she said measuredly. “How might I enter the Netherworld?”

“The living cannot enter now: you remember the consequences of your own actions, I hope.”

“I heard that you have found, or made, a new entrance,” Gwendolyn said, never letting her gaze drop. “I would like you to tell me how to use it, or I shall be forced to persuade you.”

“You would threaten me?” Odin thundered, but that wasn’t denial of the new entrance’s existence, so Gwendolyn weathered it. The strength in her thighs seemed to have melted into ice-water, but still, she weathered it.

“I only want to retrieve my husband.”

“Forget him: he is lost.”

“I’m going to get him back, as I have done before.”

Odin scoffed, rising from his throne with the air of one who knows the effect his towering height will have on others, and who enjoys using it. “Odette will never let him through her fingers. He is lost, and you waste your time in searching for him. Perhaps you might rescue him this time: will it go so smoothly the next? Will you fight that skeletal queen each time his own weakness drags him down to her?”

“Yes.”

“He is lost, as he has been since the day his soul was pledged to her. He will never be yours: you fight for a dead man.” He looked down at her from the top of the carpeted steps, and his eyes were cold, like gems embedded in the crevasses of his face. “Your talents are wasted with him. Come and fight for me once more.”

“For you?” Gwendolyn almost faltered, but she had locked her body in place and it didn’t move. “But the war is over: there is nothing to fight for.”

“There will be everything to fight for if we use that ring.”

The words rang out in the empty space between them as clearly as if he’d slapped her. Shocked out of her anger, Gwendolyn lifted her chin, frowning. Not showing any of the flutter of discountenance she felt, she said, “This is a time of peace.”

Her father held her eye. So he was serious, then. Clearly the armistice wasn’t enough for him: he had to have victory. As if to prove her right, he said, “Do you not wish to see our blessed country restored to its former glory?”

“Not at the expense of a war.”

“You resort to hypocrisy.” Scorn dripped off his words.

“I do no such thing.”

“More lies,” he said, and began to pace around the throne. He didn’t even look at her: she held a spear they both knew she was more than proficient with, and he wouldn’t even grant her the respect of considering her a threat. Irritated, he asked, “When has war been distasteful to you? You have craved it all your life.”

“I’m different now.”

“No.” King Odin shook his head, stopping next to one of the wall hangings that bore his own crest. He shook his head: “No, you are the same, and you know it too. Do you not find yourself struggling, my daughter?” As if sensing weakness she could have sworn she wasn’t showing, he turned to her, and said more softly, “This domesticity is not in your blood. Your wings are clipped with him: will you spend your life at his beck and call, bending to his whims and orders, sacrificing all your dignity as a warrior to be, instead, his wife?”

Gwendolyn set her jaw.

“Like a nurse you run after him, saving him again and again, saving his degrading soul, but is this worth it?”

“Yes,” she said, and meant it fully.

“Is this what you have come to?”

It was as if he was circling her now, searching for gaps, but she wouldn’t give him any, she promised herself. “This is what I am.”

“A disappointment, then.”

It was blatant — she hadn’t expected that. She had to reaffirm her hold on her spear, swallow, and readjust her thoughts. It didn’t matter. She’d come here for a reason.

Enunciating as clearly as she could, she said, “Tell me the way to the Netherworld.”

If King Odin had been waiting for a reaction, he showed no discomfort in not getting one. He let a moment pass in mock consideration, and said, “In exchange for the ring, I would not say no.”

“I won’t give it up.”

“So you have said. Which excuse this time? Why bother, when you know I speak the truth?”

“I won’t give up the ring,” Gwendolyn insisted. She was on firmer footing here. “Oswald gave it to me and I will not be parted from it. Nor will I be parted from him, so tell me, please, how I might get to the Netherworld, so I can retrieve my husband.”

“Because you enjoy being subjugated in this way?”

“Because I love him.”

His eyes narrowed, leaving only black glints to pierce her. “Do not indulge in pointless sentimentality.”

“I like sentimentality. I’ve found it agrees with me, and I don’t see any need to fight it, so I want him back. If you want a warrior, I will raze this castle to ashes until you tell me the way, but no matter what you say or offer me, I want him back.”

It was a bluff, and she could see that he knew it. That knowledge frightened her more than she wanted to admit: what could she do, if this proved useless? She didn’t know any other way of reaching Oswald.

Of course, that wasn’t the whole of it, but it was the easiest part to think about, so she concentrated on that rather than on the disapproval of her father raining down on her.

In time, he sat down again, the waves of his mantle cascading around him. Indistinct voices clattered, but those had nothing to do with them, and for some time neither said anything. Gwendolyn’s resolve didn’t fail, though the silence battered it, shaking her muscles into submission only she could feel, because she wouldn’t let herself falter. It didn’t matter, as long as she got the result she wanted. None of this mattered: if she’d let herself think it did, she never could have come here.

“I can hear his words in your mouth,” King Odin said, resting his head on one palm. He was looking out of the window at sunlight that couldn’t quite penetrate the unwelcoming stone walls of the throne room. “I would wonder how well he has you trained, but then, I need not wonder.” Momentarily, he looked at her, but then his gaze was gone again. “This is foolish. Odette will never let him go.”

_I have to try_ , Gwendolyn thought, but she couldn’t open her mouth: the balance was too unstable.

“Can you see yourself, Gwendolyn? Can you see your life, what you have lost?”

She could see only profit.

“Would Griselda have bowed to a man so unworthy of her?”

They would never know, now.

“You drag yourself to your own ruin: I can only mourn what you might have been.”

If Oswald had been here, she would have been able to say everything. She would have been able to stand up straighter, look her father in the eye and remind him that he had forced her into this marriage, and if he’d expected her to turn on her husband, he should have let her into his plans beforehand. With Oswald there, she would have been able to do more than stand dumbly, waiting for his judgement, catching herself yearning for clemency. For what crime?

This was her decision, and every part of her revolted at the idea of doing anything else. That should have been enough, but here in the hall of her father — the walls gaping around her ready to swallow her back down — she had to cling to everything Oswald had ever told her (gently, gently to ease her into it, just as she had eased him into his own recovery).

Yes, she was scared. That didn’t signify, not when she had to get him back. More terrible than this fear curdling her very marrow was the idea of not getting him back.

In time, King Odin looked at her again. The afternoon shadows drew lines across his face that she didn’t recognise: he looked tired. All the fight was gone from her now (but not so far that she wouldn’t be able to bring it back), and she waited for him to speak.

“This is not what I would have wished for. Far from it, but…” His gaze lingered over her, and he closed his eyes. “What choice have I? I will show you the way, if that is what you want, but I cannot and will not answer for the reception Odette will give you.”

Gwendolyn didn’t thank him: it wasn’t the time for that. Heart in her mouth, she watched him walk down the steps from the throne, and stood aside as he swept by. As he did, he said, “I hope you will tell your husband that anything he has from now on, he owes to me.”

 

***

 

Gwendolyn had prepared herself for more than Odette gave her. She barely registered the lands she walked through, or the howling cries of the dead swarming around her: stalking through the Netherworld, she came to the queen’s throne, and raised her spear.

Leonine in her grace, Odette looked at her and said, “I grow tired of this.”

“I…pardon?”

“I grow tired,” Odette repeated, lifting her hand to a Halja that had materialised beside her — a few words passed between them, and it was gone. The queen turned back to Gwendolyn, her gaze burning with all the fury of a funeral pyre, but everything else about her was set in unwelcoming lethargy. Like a beetle uncurling from its carapace, she stood up, and — slowly, decisively — came to Gwendolyn. “You have learnt nothing, and I despair you ever will. He will ever be mine: there is nothing you can do for him, and your insistent delusions bore me.”

Here, Gwendolyn was on more solid footing, and she glared at the woman coming towards her. “He doesn’t have to die yet. He hasn’t died at all: you had no right to take him!”

“No right?” Odette reached her and held out a hand like the grasping branches of a wizened tree; with one needle-sharp nail, she drew a line down Gwendolyn’s throat. Only the tentative feeling that there was hope this could be resolved quickly kept Gwendolyn still, but she allowed loathing to fill her eyes.

Odette spoke, her voice low, her breath as stale as the air of a mausoleum: “I have every right, little witch. I have every right over him: I own him. Will you deny that? I know you cannot.”

“He isn’t dead yet,” Gwendolyn said, and the queen smiled at her. It wasn’t quite a leer, but it seemed to suck all the light from around them, leaving their surroundings stark, starving.

“No,” Odette agreed. “And you will not leave, will you?”

She was close now: Gwendolyn could feel her breath on her skin. “I will never leave without him.”

“Tiresome.” She traced her finger up Gwendolyn’s throat, past the lobe of her ear, and carefully pulled down a strand of her hair. Gwendolyn felt it settle softly on her collarbone, like a child’s comfort blanket in a world unwelcoming.

“I will strike you a deal,” Odette said. “You may have your husband back: you may take him from my kingdom, and keep him for as long as you might. But the road back to the world of the living is long, and — as your part of the bargain — you must not look back at him. You must not touch him. You must lead him out with words alone, until the light of day reaches you both.”

_You say that as if it_ _’s going to be a challenge_ , Gwendolyn would have said, but she prided herself on her intelligence, and challenging Odette did not strike her as an intelligent thing to do at this moment. Again, she had only to wait on the mercy of others. It repulsed her.

Odette smiled. “You think this will be easy.”

“Have you reason to think it won’t be?”

“I will leave you to see that for yourself, I think. Remember only that you will not be able to leave with him if he does not want to leave.”

“What have you done to him?” She tried not to make it sound threatening. She did try.

“I? Nothing.” Odette’s spinal cord rippled like the segments of a millipede as she straightened up a little, still blocking out what sickly light there was here. “I am only, in my boundless mercy, giving you a chance, and a warning.” She spread her fingers demonstratively and the air shifted around them in little spirals of glitter that faded into her obsidian nails. “Let me give you another: this mercy will not be extended to you again. The next time, there will be no recourse open to you but to offer up your own soul to me, if you wish to stay with him. I would not be opposed to making you mine, little witch.”

The idea had barely settled inside Gwendolyn’s ears when Odette moved in again, and Gwendolyn only had the time to raise her spear before she felt hands pulling her backwards, the craggy ground reaching up like claws to drag her down — hard stone against her skin, Odette’s watchful gaze as she fell, the very ground closing over her, and then nothing.

When she opened her eyes, everything was calm.

She was standing, she found, on the bank of a kind of lake. But no, this was more like a causeway over a black sea: it was a jumble of irregular bleached stones sticking out between two pools that stretched as far as she could see, before they were eaten up by gloom and mist. Little green lights floated about like fireflies, and it took her a moment to realise that they were also coming from inside the inky water. There was just enough light to see a few paces in front of her.

Belatedly, she realised she didn’t have her spear anymore. She decided she was going to be very annoyed if she didn’t get it back, but before she could work herself into any sort of justified pet over the matter, she was turning to check it hadn’t been dropped somewhere, and she heard Oswald say, “Gwendolyn, don’t.”

“Oswald?!” She wheeled around, only remembering as she did so that she shouldn’t have done it, but the bolt of panic that shot through her came to nothing: Oswald moved too, and she only caught a flash of his hair before they both stopped.

“My love, you mustn’t—”

“I know.” Letting her shoulders drop, she stared out over the skeletal stones of the causeway. “I know: Odette told me. I only… Never mind: how are you? Have they hurt you?”

She heard him approach — heard his steps (bare, as if he wasn’t wearing shoes) push the stones into crunching — and when he was so close she fancied she could feel his warmth against her back, he stopped.

“I’m well,” he said.

“Oh, don’t lie, not here: has she done anything to you? I will rip her spine from her skull and burn them both.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” he said, and for a moment they were back at home, each moderating the other’s temper softly, firmly, lovingly. Then Gwendolyn blinked and she was in the Netherworld again, still unable to turn around to see him.

Breathing in, she set her jaw and said, “I would do a lot to be able to hold you now.”

The faintest of movements brushed over her nape, her shoulder blades, and Oswald’s voice came out scratched: “I would, too.”

“We should leave. If you…I’ll move back around slowly, so just follow me? Since I was facing that way, I think that should be the way out. Not that anything looks different in this direction,” she added with a sniff, in an attempt to lighten her heart. It didn’t quite work.

Somehow, they managed to manoeuvre themselves back to the right position, and Gwendolyn straightened up, staring straight ahead of her. “Shall we go, then? I’d take your hand, but…”

“I’ll consider it taken in spirit,” Oswald replied, and the ghost of a smile she could hear in his voice warmed her, even here.

After that, they walked. Oswald didn’t speak much: he wasn’t talkative in general, but he seemed to be too pensive to do much more than answer her questions — with no way of seeing him, Gwendolyn felt like he was still smoke in her hands. No matter how she cradled him, he wasn’t solid yet. They had to leave, and quickly.

The regular clatter of her armour was the only real sound in this place they walked through. Water lapped softly around the stones, but it was so faint that their footsteps drowned it out. There was something choked about the air: it was like the deafening hum of silence, present even when they were talking. Unknown things dripped in the darkness around them, punctuating their footsteps irregularly; Oswald seemed to sink into rumination. She could hardly blame him: she felt only sympathy, and regretted that she would have to wait to show it physically.

With no conversation to distract her, the humming crept in closer, worming its way into Gwendolyn’s ears. She felt preyed on here, like invisible parasites were taking root in her body. When she’d been here before, she’d been too occupied with fighting to notice; she couldn’t even imagine spending entire days here.

Five minutes or so after she’d given up hope of Oswald being in a fit state to talk, he did, quite unprompted. With unnatural gravity on each word, he said, “When King Odin came to visit, he said I was holding you back.”

Gwendolyn, who had already been thinking dark thoughts of her father, had to suppress the blinding anger that jolted through her, just for a moment. “He had no right to say that,” she announced, as if he himself could hear her, “least of all to you.”

“Because he was right?”

“Because he… _what?_ ” It took an effort of will to not turn around, and her step faltered. “What has Odette done to you? What has she told you? Every part of it is a lie, Oswald, believe me: I love you, I always will, and you have _never_ held me back.”

There was a short pause, and Gwendolyn would have done anything to be allowed to see him for it. Instead, she was faced with an endless white strip of bone-like rubble stretching into the darkness.

“It happened again,” Oswald eventually said, his voice expertly locked up into neutrality. What agony, to not be able to coax him back to her with touches.

“What did?” she asked guardedly.

“I lost control: I wasn’t strong enough, and you had to come and save me.”

“Do you think I mind? I would come for you a million times, if that was what it took.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“But I don’t mind!”

Her voice echoed around the cavern; the very water seemed to ripple with it. In a quiet voice, Oswald said, “I know, dear heart. I know, and I love you for it — more than I could ever say — but you should not have to. I should have been stronger.”

“Oswald, this is ridicul—”

“Please, listen to me.”

He was all wrong. He shouldn’t have been so restrained: the Oswald she knew was not like that, not to her. It seemed he was sad, but he bore sadness like inevitability, and it was so difficult to tell, to be sure.

“I’m listening,” she said, walking onwards with an ear out to make sure he followed.

The water came in and went out three times before he sighed, and said, “I should have been able to avoid this. It shouldn’t have been difficult: I knew from the second Myris announced him that this would happen, but I couldn’t do anything. I swore to myself I would try, and I still failed. In the past days, I’ve tried any amount of excuses, but none of them fit. He baited me. So what? He baited me specifically to show me how easily I could be baited, and he was right.”

Dreading the answer, Gwendolyn asked, “How did he bait you?”

No reply.

“Oswald, we have to be honest with each other. Was I part of it?”

“Yes.”

“In this baiting, was I compared to an object — disposable or otherwise — at any point?”

“Yes.” A little harder this time, his jaw audibly tight.

Gwendolyn closed her eyes and breathed out. Yes, that would do it. She thought about that, she let herself be exasperated over how predictable it all was, and tried to ignore the sting.

“You’re thinking that I should have seen it coming, aren’t you?” Oswald asked, the smallest smile in his voice, but it sounded rueful. His steps had slowed, and she slowed down to match. “I did, but I still let it get to me.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“I can try.”

“No, you really shouldn’t: I don’t care if that _is_ a joke, I still don’t want you trying. If I had been in your position, I would have reacted the same.”

“I doubt that.”

“Oswald—”

“Gwendolyn, I should have done better. That was no isolated incident, nor was it without consequence. Look where we are. I can’t imagine Odette was happy to see you, was she? I should have known better, and yet — repeatedly — I don’t, and you have to come to save me. And, every time, I am grateful, but you… I thought I would never have you.”

Gwendolyn had been about to protest, but the abruptness of his words arrested her, and once again she had to rein herself in, keep her eyes fixed on the unsettling emptiness in front of her, rather than turn around like she longed to do.

“For so long,” he said, “I thought I would only love you, and you would be disgusted by me. I didn’t mind, as long as I could support you. I thought I would never have you, then I did, and now I think I never deserved you to begin with.”

“That’s—!” For a moment, she spluttered, speechless. “That’s _absurd!_ What a thing to think!”

“Gwendolyn, you are wasted with me.”

“I am _whole_ with you!”

There was the hint of a smile when he said, “You could be whole otherwise.”

“As could you: that doesn’t mean anything.” It was infuriating, yet more infuriating still was the way she couldn’t hold him.

“No, I…”

“‘No’?!”

“No, Gwendolyn, I could never be whole without you.” There was so little distance between them, it seemed he barely had to stretch his hand at all to reach the back of her neck. She felt her hair stand on end, and — remembering Odette’s warning — flinched away.

A moment passed in silence as they both realised what he had done.

“Was that on purpose?” she whispered, reaching her own hand to the place he’d almost touched. It felt sensitive, like new skin after a burn. “Do you mean to end this here?”

“I don’t know what I meant. I wanted to touch you.” There was something defeated in his voice, but he seemed to swallow it, because it wasn’t there when he next spoke. “Gwendolyn, back when I first saw you, I thought what I felt was unnatural. How could it have been otherwise, with you as who you were, and me as who I was? I thought you had bewitched me. But no, you had awakened me. You have given me sight, and I see nothing but you now.”

“So you would throw me away?” She hadn’t meant to sound so defensive, but her voice didn’t come out easily.

He, understandably, protested. “No!”

“No? But that’s what it looks like to me.”

“No, my love: never, _never_. It’s because I adore you that I can’t keep dragging you down like this!”

“So you’ve decided, alone, that I’m worth this?” She clenched her fists by the wings of her skirts, the metal screeching softly. “We’re supposed to decide these things together. If you had just _told_ me that you felt this way, I’d have helped you! Do you think the same thoughts haven’t crossed my mind? Countless times, I’ve…I’ve thought that you deserve better than me, that I’m broken and impossible to want, but in those times, I go to you, and you help.”

“How could you ever be beneath me?” he asked, almost horrified. “You aren’t broken, you’re beyond perfect as you are!”

“And I feel the same about you! I thought you knew that!”

There was a short silence, and for every second of it, Gwendolyn kept alert, just to make sure he was still following her.

“I think… I think I did. I do.”

“But it’s easier to pretend you don’t, isn’t it?” she asked, and it was almost a snarl. She longed to have him in her arms, and since she couldn’t, she was left with only anger. “It’s easier to wrap yourself up in thoughts of self-loathing, to tell yourself that you’re worth nothing, because it’s what you’ve always done. But you aren’t alone now, Oswald! We’ve been _working_ on this. You aren’t alone, and while of course that means I will do everything in my power to support you, it also means that your death — or disappearance, or whatever it is — will not only affect you. I am not an idol you can worship without any regard for my feelings on the matter. I am your wife, and I love you, and everything you’ve said has been so stupid that I really don’t know what to say to you!”

Silence descended, and she began to regret her outburst. They’d both stopped walking now — she had because he had, and she was now straining for any sound beyond the distant drips around them, like a forest after rain.

Eventually, there was, “I’m sorry.”

Gwendolyn relaxed. “Well. Don’t be sorry long: I’d rather you didn’t use this as an excuse to think worse of yourself.”

He didn’t say anything, and Gwendolyn began to itch with the need to turn around and look at him. To stop herself, she stared into the darkness, intensely enough that she began to see shapes swirling there. When he still said nothing, she did. “Oswald, I’m sorry too. I don’t want to shout at you. If we…if we weren’t here, I would be doing everything to reassure you that I love you, that I treasure you, that even if this worries me, it doesn’t lessen my regard for you. But I can’t, not yet. So please just know that this hasn’t changed anything. I’m sorry too, for not being able to support you the way I should have. I love you, and if it takes my whole life, I’d like to one day show you how much. Until then, all I can do is try, and ask you to try as well. Does that sound fair?”

A pause, and then, almost sheepishly, he said, “Yes.”

“So you won’t consider staying here in eternal torment just because you think you’re a burden on me, even though I’ve never been happier with anyone than with you?”

“Gwendolyn, please don’t put it like that: it’s not fair.”

“It’s very fair,” she said primly.

“You could describe it a little more charitably.”

“I won’t be charitable to anything that threatens to take you from me.”

It was like she could feel him relax behind her, and when she began to walk again, he followed. The causeway stretched on, unchanging, and after a while, he said, “If…if I could, I would hug you.”

“I’ll consider myself hugged in spirit,” she replied, imitating his earlier tone, and was gratified to hear him exhale a little in a smile. “No more talk of any self-sacrifices, then, please? I won’t be able to take it.”

“I would rather die than cause you pain again.”

“Oswald…”

“I worded that badly. I…I’ll try,” he said with some amount of resolve. “I will do my best to try.”

“Good.”

For a little while longer, they walked, though still nothing changed. The scenery continued as if on a loop, and the first thing to disturb it was a sigh from behind Gwendolyn. Just a small one.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I was only thinking that not being able to hold you is…”

“I know. If I could, I would hold you too.”

“I would kiss you.”

“Is this a competition? I would kiss you too, anywhere you might want to be kissed, for as long as it would take until you felt a fraction of my love for you.”

“I would make your hands my own,” he said, his footsteps ringing out louder on the causeway. “I would cover them with kisses.”

“My love, I would keep you with me until you forget what it is to be alone.”

There was the rough sound of Oswald breathing in, but he said nothing; like they were two magnets, Gwendolyn could have sworn she felt a pull on her back when he reached out to her, his fingers coming just short of her bodice.

“Let’s leave,” she said, lifting her chin.

“I thought that was what we were doing.”

“Let’s run. I can’t stand it here another moment. I’ll lead, and I’ll trust you to follow me. Don’t let me go alone.”

“Never.”

They ran. The ground was uneven under Gwendolyn’s feet — it was as if they were running over a myriad skulls, polished by feet like theirs running towards life — but she ran steadily, and she could feel her husband behind her. They kept time together, and ran through the vast, unchanging scenery.

In time, it did change. By then, sweat was running down Gwendolyn’s back, her body beginning to protest quite firmly against running any further with armour on, and the glimpses of light ahead came as a certain relief. She relayed the news to Oswald with a yell, to be heard, and they sped up. The light seemed to come towards them slowly, a blinding dawn in shades of white, and as they got closer, the light began to shift and shake, like it was shone through crystals. Gwendolyn ran to it, too impatient to curb her frantic pace, and closed her eyes when she ran through it. A few more steps, and she slowed to a stop, her breath like stormy waves in her lungs: she bent over to catch it again, and felt Oswald come to a stop next to her. With dazzling sunlight washing over them, they found each other’s hands and clasped them while they recovered.

Once her eyes had adjusted, and once she felt collected enough to do so, Gwendolyn stood up and Oswald mirrored her; they looked at each other. They were both in a state, she was sure: she could feel hair sticking to her neck, and while he was wearing significantly less than armour, he still looked a little less than composed.

But precious, still. He was smiling at her, and he was so precious to her that her body moved of its own accord — a hand to his cheek, brushing some of his hair into place. When she moved to take the hand back, he held her wrist in place and kissed it.

She had waited enough: taking her hands from him, she flung her arms around his neck, pulling him to her, and kissed him. There was a moment of surprise, and then his arms were around her again, and he was kissing her back.

It was, admittedly, a little unpleasant. They were both still sticky, and the running had opened up some of the cuts Gwendolyn had received in the fight to her father’s throne, but all of that paled in the face of how right it felt to be together again. This body — so loved, so familiar, as much a part of her as her own — was with her once more, and there was no more talk of him leaving. Instead, he clung to her, kissing her mouth, her lips, her cheeks, her neck as frantically as if he had thought he would never be able to do it again.

And perhaps he had thought that. She would do everything she could to make sure he’d never think it again. She would always be here.

After the initial hunger was sated and they broke apart, still holding each other close, Gwendolyn smiled at him, angling his chin with her fingers for a last quick kiss. When she pulled away, there was unalloyed wonder in his eyes.

Almost helplessly, he said, “Thank you for coming to get me.”

“I’ll always come,” she assured him, stroking his hair fondly. “Always, gladly, for as long as you want to come back to me.”

Nodding, Oswald closed his eyes and leaned down, resting his forehead on her shoulder. Gwendolyn continued to stroke his hair, letting him lean on her. They had time yet. They were together, so there was no rush.


End file.
